


But it's still better than anything you ever made me feel

by cliffordxcolors



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Calum is an asshole in this, I APOLOGIZE, Idk why I never write happy fanfics, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Luke is in this if you squint, M/M, Sad Michael, ashton is also mentioned a few times, i don't even know what this is, i wrote this at 3 am, malum but not really, mentions of depression, this sucks dont read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliffordxcolors/pseuds/cliffordxcolors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The constant swallowing of pills made me grow sick of consuming things and the thick air in this room made it hard to get up in the morning and your side of the bed feels like it should be crossed off by police tape because I was always so unwelcome and we both knew it but did nothing to fix it and the alcohol drowns out my coherent thoughts and gives me headaches every morning but it's still better than anything you ever made me feel.</em><br/> </p><p>(In which Calum leaves and Michael always longed for the feeling of <em>feeling</em> again, and suddenly he wants to feel nothing at all.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	But it's still better than anything you ever made me feel

**Author's Note:**

> IM SORRY CALUM SOUNDS LIKE SUCH A DOUCHE IN THIS. I RANDOMLY GOT THE IDEA AND THIS SORT OF HAPPENED IDK IT WAS LIKE 3 AM.
> 
>  
> 
> Also I didn't really edit it and the grammar is probably horrible and the whole thing is horrible why did I even write this

Your car rolled out of the parking lot, and I stood in the kitchen and watched from the window five stories above. I watched as your car became nothing more than a small speck in the distance, and I hoped that I would never feel that small again now that you left. 

I still feel your hands on my skin and how you were gentle when you wanted to be, but how most times your long fingers would leave light purple bruises on my hips and I used to not mind, but now whenever I look in the mirror it's a constant reminder that I was yours and I want to claw every piece of skin contaminated by you off of my body, and even though the marks have long since faded, it's like my mind can't seem to let go of the feeling of those touches. I remember how I used to want to feel you in so many ways, and I wouldn't mind you kissing purple bruises onto every part of my body, or whispering words (and not the feel-good kind) to me that stuck to every part of me and I would pretend that I wasn't affected by them but they stung like bees and jellyfish and everything else in this world that stings mixed together times a hundred and now whenever I look in the mirror those words play like a broken record in my mind and I want to tear my hair out and stitch my eyes shut and I wonder why I ever let this go on for so long. 

Those words are all I ever was to you, and all I ever will be. 

I don't like driving because I remember how you would always have a cd playing, and now those CDs that I loved turned into melodic reminders that I was so fucking gullible and stupid and all I want is to snap the CDs in half. But you're gone and you took your car with you as well as all the CDs. And I still remember every word to every one of your favorite songs and I can't erase them from my mind and whenever I hear them all I see is your bright eyes light up even more when you sang along and how your voice reminded me of something beautiful. I could never decide what beautiful thing to compare your voice to because it would be an insult to say that anything even came close to the sound of your voice. It seems as if every beautiful thing in the world should be compared to your voice.

I hate movies because they're not the same without my back against your chest and your soft breathe against my neck, and the sweet sound of your laughter as the movie made you laugh more than I ever could. You're tan arms would wrap loosely around my body, and I never realized how meaningless your arms felt around me until I thought back on everything, and I wish that the feeling of your arms could leave my mind.

Meaningless. So fucking meaningless. 

I hate how you would pretend you didn't hear me at 3 am when the only sound in our bedroom would be my pencil scratching across my notebook, and how I knew you were awake. I always fucking knew. I hate how I needed someone so bad that I had to resort to writing my thoughts because I knew you wouldn't welcome my waking you up at who-knows-what in the morning, and my need to just _talk_ , with open arms and a smile. You were never much of a talker. And neither was I. And soon the sound of pencil against paper became a more common noise than our voices. 

What we had was thinner than paper, more delicate than glass, and I would prepare myself everyday for you to get sick of me and leave out of nowhere. It didn't happen for a while. I wish it had happened sooner. 

I remember the time I realized you didn't even fucking care. I remember how ashton would look at me with sad eyes whenever I turned down his invites to hang out, because I said I was going to spend time with you. I remember how the last time I refused Ashton's offer was the night you left. 

I remember how I came home to your car in your usual parking space, and how as I walked up the stairs on the way to our apartment, and how something felt so _wrong_. As wrong as your arms felt around me, as wrong as my name sounded when it slipped past your lips, as wrong everything felt when I was with you. 

I remember watching from the kitchen window as your car drove away. 

_you must have taken the elevator. You knew I was afraid of elevators._

There was no sign of your shoes at the front door, or the DVDs you loved by the TV, or anything that was ever yours, and a weight collapsed off my shoulders and it felt like my lungs could function properly and I took in a deep breath, breathing in air that no longer have to share with you, and a couch as black as your hair that I would never have to sit on with your meaningless embrace around me, and a bed that I would have to myself, filled with so many memories of nights that I was more than willing to forget. 

I remember how I fell to the ground and cried. I'm still not sure if it was out of sadness or happiness, but all I remember is that small voice that gradually grew louder in the back of my mind, the one that would wonder _why_ you left today, why not yesterday, why not tomorrow? 

I remember how the next day I woke up and the mixed emotions from yesterday were gone and replaced by a feeling that felt like a boulder weighing me down, like I was pinned by the air to the half vacant bed and it was almost like I couldn't breathe. I remember how it wasn't my first and most certainly not my last, time waking up without you, and I never realized how beautiful you sounded when you breathed and I almost wanted to be swallowed by the bed because I was thinking these things about you, and you were gone and I just _know_ that you're not coming back. 

I also remember how the night after you left, I drank for the first time in weeks, and how my fingers and toes went numb and how my brain was fuzzy and how the apartment smelled like a frat party instead of you, and it felt good to feel numb, it felt good to feel nothing at all.

Ashton was worried about me but I swore to God that I was fine. I was perfectly okay without you and I promised him that I would call if I started to get bad again. I kept saying how that wouldn't happen.

It did, though. 

I didn't call Ashton. 

I began taking the pills that I used to take before I met you and decided that you were my cure, and when I look back on that thought I laughed because you were the fucking _opposite_ of a cure. You made me worse without either of us realizing. 

I drink every night, washing pills down with the bitter taste of whatever alcoholic substance I could find in the refrigerator, and i still don't know why you left and that eats away at me and all I can blame is myself and I just hoped and prayed that a couple more of the amount of pills that was recommended for me to take would somehow kill me, and it scared me to think these things again, and if I could turn back time to the day before I met you I would, I would've never left my house, and I would've never looked into your warm chocolate eyes and felt your tan skin against mine, or ran my hands through your dark hair, or internally melted from your stupid fucking smile, and maybe I could have just fallen in love with the weird, lanky blonde boy who used to live next door, and maybe my life wouldn't be so damn complicated, but the universe hates me and things never go my way. 

I never wanted the weird, lanky, blonde boy, anyway.

And the constant swallowing of pills made me grow sick of consuming things and the thick air in this room made it hard to get up in the morning and your side of the bed feels like it should be crossed off by police tape because I was always so unwelcome and we both knew it but did nothing to fix it and the alcohol drowns out my coherent thoughts and gives me headaches every morning but it's still better than anything you ever made me feel.


End file.
